


nightmares, nightmares got us

by blessedbethefallen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Depression, Insomnia, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Hatred, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedbethefallen/pseuds/blessedbethefallen
Summary: He never said it out loud, but he hated himself. The fact that he was the only one who survived, the fact that all he lost was an arm, the fact that he could not even live by himself; they were all reasons he wished he had not made it back home.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 11





	nightmares, nightmares got us

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to any of the characters that I am portraying in my fic. Reader discretion is advised. Mentions of suicidal ideations, war, loss of limbs, recreational marijuana use, self-hatred, depression, etc. If any of these topics are sensitive to you, please do not upset yourself. 
> 
> Rated M just to be safe.
> 
> Special thanks to Brii for beta-reading!! You're the actual best.

The joint trembles visibly between his fingers as he raises it to his lips, holding it in between them as he grabs the lighter from the floor beside him. It takes two attempts with his shaking hand before the lighter produces a flame and he can light the joint. The long drag that he takes fills his lungs, his eyes closing against the faintest heat his body feels. He holds his breath, head resting against the bed that is behind him. Sleeping has not been easy since he has come home. The past four years overseas remain prominent in his head, the memories playing through like a movie, making him relive each moment from the view of the leading star. They are persistent - it feels like they may never go away. The sound of gunfire rings in the back of Bucky's skull, the smoke twirling from his lips into the air as he focuses on staying composed. 

He has been back on American soil for almost half a year now, having been honorably discharged after an attack that left him the only survivor of his squad. The family that he had become a part of was gone just as fast as they had come into his life. His eyes start to water as he takes another long drag off the joint. He allows himself to blame it on taking too deep of a breath. He knows one day he will have to face the seemingly everlasting grief he feels, the demons that swarm around in his head, but tonight he is not ready. A stab in his left shoulder comes when the first tear falls as he allows himself to slowly lay onto the floor, the carpet tickling against his ear as the space where his left arm should be meets the ground.

The phantom pains alone wake him up three out of twelve times a night, though the nightmares that morph into phantom pains are the main reason that he wakes up. The carpet is soft, softer than what he had grown used to. It wasn't as bad now as it once was. He remembers feeling it for the first time when he fell off the bed. A night terror had caused him to jerk, shouting out as he fell. It hadn't been enough to wake him, instead trapping him in the nightmare that now featured thousands of hands grabbing at his skin, trying to pull him into the ground... It took many nights of sitting on the floor for the fabric to feel more like a friend than a foe.

When Bucky had first gotten out of the hospital, he was a shell of a person he had been. He could not even fake it, despite how much he hated seeing that sad look in Steve's eye. When Steve had come across the sloppy noose Bucky was trying to learn to tie with only one hand, it was a mutual decision for him to start talking to someone. As much as he wanted to refuse the help, he could not stand to see the face of his best friend so haunted again. It had been Bucky's own choice to be admitted for two months. The thought of dealing with his demons that were still so, so fresh in front of Steve drowned his brain into a pit of hopelessness and despair. He had been fully ready to give up at the mere thought of it after the noose discovery. 

Bucky remembers Steve putting up an argument, thinking it was the doctor's choice. "I can take care of him; he doesn't need to be-" Bucky had cut him off with a soft explanation that he had requested it. The brief moment of how Steve really felt showed Bucky just how broken his friend felt. If you did not know what to look for, you would have missed it, but Bucky didn't. Though, just as fast as it had shown it was gone again, a delicate mask replacing it. That mask of unwavering selflessness that so many assumed to be Steve’s natural expression; Bucky knew the truth, though. He had seen the truth.

He takes another long drag, his eyes fixed on the wall straight ahead of him while his mind drifts away into shady corners. He does not realize how close he is to being completely through the joint until his lips burn with an inhale. He stifles a cough that creeps up his throat, opting to instead focus on the red ember that slowly dulls out until it is gone.

He allows for the extinguished joint to fall into the carpet beside him, his eyes closing as he waits for the effect of the marijuana to set in. His mind never felt like it was his anymore. At least when he smoked, he could forget the everlasting traumas that hold him down, if only for a few short moments at a time. Bucky does not know if he fell asleep again or not, but he knows the next time he opens his eyes is when Steve is opening the door to his bedroom.

There is no light that accompanies it, indicating that it was still in the middle of the night at least. The silence that follows the door closing lets Bucky know that Steve is surveying the room, trying to keep his emotions from spiraling out of control. The first few times Steve had come to check on Bucky and did not see him in bed lead to every light being turned on in a panic. Bucky had never wanted to melt into the floor more than the moment his eyes met Steve's and they were both embarrassed about their situations.

"Buck?" Steve quietly manages, his voice seeming so out of place in the heavy dread of the room. It is an unspoken agreement between them that if Bucky does not answer, Steve will leave the room with no further prying. It was no secret, though, that Steve would always rather be in the same room as his best friend, just to make sure he knew he was never alone. "You okay?"

Bucky contemplates whether he wants to answer, if he wants the company tonight, if he wants to see the sorrowful look in Steve's blue eyes. He turns his head and buries his face into the carpet long enough for him to pull in a shaky breath. "Uh- Yeah. Yeah, I'm..." His voice never sounds right anymore, not to his own ears at least. The years of his voice being optimistic and him living to bring Steve every ounce of fun had passed. When that is all he had ever known, who was he supposed to be now?

  
Steve's footsteps are almost silence on the carpet, with the only reason Bucky knew he was getting closer being the ever-so-soft thuds he could feel against his ear. Steve sits on the floor next to where Bucky's head lays, before gently lifting the other man's head and shuffling his way under it. When Bucky's head lays on Steve's lap and he feels his best friend's fingers gently combing through his hair, it takes almost everything in him not to start crying.

  
"Another nightmare?" Steve asks him, fingers still brushing through short brunette hair. A tear forces itself from the corner of Bucky's eye and he hates it. God, he hates being so weak. A jerky nod is all he can manage, and that is all Steve expects. The silence and darkness envelope Bucky again as quickly as he had surfaced, but now he had something grounding him to reality. Even if he does not sleep, he has always found that he feels better rested whenever he is with Steve. The tears are still just behind his eyes when Steve leans down, pressing a firm kiss onto Bucky's temple. When Bucky's eyes close again he can only hope that Steve thinks he is asleep. He does not know what he would do if Steve tried to talk about Bucky's shaking frame as he fights against his sobs.

Steve's hand stays steady in its stroking though, allowing Bucky to get lost in the rhythm of it. As his brain slips closer into complete silence, Bucky thinks he may feel a drop of water on his shoulder. He forces himself to stay on the path to mental silence, though, and the last thing he can clearly remember is Steve inhaling slow, the exhale holding the shaky sound of Steve's weeping. Bucky can only hope one day that both of them can escape their never-ending nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave kudos and comments to let me know you enjoyed it! Follow me on tumblr at blessedbethefallen.tumblr.com 
> 
> Y'all rock!


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